by Emma Alisyn
Donato slowed as they came to one of the small midtown parks, an expanse of grassy lawn dotted with trees and round beds of flowers, the occasional bench lining the cement path.
“Fly with me,” he said, turning to face her.
“Not to your cave. We don’t have time for that.”
Donato stepped back, hands making short work of his clothing. There were wooden community storage shelves where shifters could place their clothing. It was rare items were stolen, since it only took a nose to catch a thief, but sometimes in a hurry, mistakes were made. She averted her eyes as he stripped, not because she was shy or had some particular morality against nudity, but because her mind was already overly heated, and she didn’t need even more fodder for her imagination.
His breath puffed in her face, tail swishing happily through the air. “Careful you don’t knock something over,” she warned.
He inhaled, then snorted. “I’m not a puppy.”
His voice was deeper, louder in this form. Donato settled onto his belly, lowering his shoulders blades as far to the ground as possible. “Climb on.”
Jezamine didn’t budge. “Have you ever dropped someone? Ever?”
He snapped his fangs at her. “Don’t insult me, female. Or are you afraid?”
“You won’t bait me like that.” She stood, unruffled, then came to a decision. “Fine. But if you drop me, I will hex you.”
“Did I drop you last time?”
“No, but there is always a first.”
He rumbled, what passed for a chuckle, and she was glad she hadn’t worn heels, or a skirt, opting instead for silky pants and flats. To her surprise the ridges on his back created a natural seat, and also handholds in a sort of fashion. Donato rose to his feet, wings unfurling.
“The force of gravity will mostly keep you in your seat,” he said, neck twisting, so he could eye her. “But hang on anyway.”
He leaped upwards by the sheer strength of his hind legs and the awesome wingspan, and soon the ground was several stories beneath them.
20
“Oh, Hekate,” she swore. He kept low, true to his promise, skimming the tops of buildings. Felicity Falls didn’t boast skyscrapers, mostly because it was a young city, and skyscrapers took the kind of funding that had been better spent developing the enclaves and shopping districts. Building schools and parks and farmland. Maybe one day, a rich developer would come through and dot their skyline with steel and glass monstrosities, but hopefully, that would be a long day in coming.
The wind snapped through her hair, and she laughed. The force of his flight kept her bottom pressed on his back, and she began to relax, growing confident that no, she wouldn’t slide off and fall to her death.
“This is better than dangling from your claw,” she shouted.
He huffed and settled into a leisurely coast through the city, circling, so they stayed above the lights. People below looked up, some pointing—probably humans or tourists—but Jezamine didn’t quite have the courage to lift an arm and wave back.
She felt like a teenager again, the heady sense of freedom and opportunity as if the world as awaiting her. How she’d managed to stoke such feelings living in an isolated mountain coven that hoarded its bloodline and secrets jealously, she didn’t know. Few witches ever left, and those who returned didn’t talk about the outside world much. She’d always yearned for outside. For more.
Maybe her heart truly had known her mate was waiting for her to grow up and find him. A dragon. A lord of the sky. She laughed, delighted. She wished the Hearn Maven could see her now. Thinking of Joshua, she promised herself again that she would never tell him he couldn’t pursue his dreams, stoke his desire until they became reality. She was fiercely happy for her son. He was embarking on a life that he chose, and even if the start was a little bumpy, those bumps were filled with love and family.
Pain lanced through her thoughts.
Jezamine slumped over his back, hand clutching her chest. “Joshua.”
At the same moment, a terrifying roar filled the air with distant thunder. Moments later, a waft of heat at her back. “Hold on,” Donato growled and wheeled in the air, pumping his wings to go higher.
She appreciated then that they’d been flying at a leisurely pace. Fear of speed vanished as the blaze of flame lit the night sky in the direction of Donato’s home.
“You said five minutes, Donato. Fly!”
Her chest ached where she’d anchored the connection between herself and Joshua, the subtle link that allowed her to monitor him at a distance, and know where he was if she concentrated. It was as if someone had tried to take the connection and yank it out. It was there, but weak. Fear curdled her blood. Her son. What had happened to her son?
A shadow emerged abruptly from a cloud. No, not a cloud, a billow of smoke. It swerved to the side, missing Donato by a hairsbreadth.
“Ground,” Marcello snapped, gravelly voice hot with rage. “Damn witches attacked the house, took the boy.”
Donato dived. Jezamine set her teeth, clinging for dear life, but all she heard were Marcello’s words. There was no room for fear. Only a deep, atavistic rage slowly building until every other emotion in her stilled, vanquished under the ice of her determination not only retrieve her son, but to stomp into dust the person who had dared to touch him.
Dahl.
Jezamine slid off Donato’s back as soon as he landed in the backyard. She turned to Marcello, the weight of his landing reverberating through the ground under her feet. “Is Kayla okay?”
“She’s fine,” Marcello said. His neck twisted towards Donato. “She and Leandros flew to the mountains. He’ll rouse our brother if it’s needed.”
“If it’s necessary to wake Lazaros,” Donato said, “we’re all fucked. What happened?”
Jezamine listened patiently long enough to allow them to determine the real reason for the attack. “Joshua is bait. They mean to draw me out.”
Two male heads turned towards her. “We know that, Jezamine.” Donato's voice was grim. “I don’t suppose you’ll agree to stay behind.”
“You want to leave the witch out of a fight between witches?”
“I didn’t think so.”
“It’s a trap, you know,” Marcello said. “Just like in the old days.”
“This won’t be the old days,” Donato snarled. “We have females and young to protect now.”
“Again. You mean again, Donato.”
She would have had to be completely numb to not hear the centuries of pain buried underneath those words. “Kayla is safe.” They looked at her again. “I’m going to get my son.”
“You know where they took him?” Donato asked.
“Of course.” She touched the silver charm hanging around her neck. “And I know what they must have discovered.”
Marcello’s eyes narrowed. “The book you buried in the forest—that wasn’t the book, was it?”
She chose to ignore the fact he’d obviously been following her. “No, it’s not, though it was designed to fool even the most astute.” Chagrin shoved aside rage for a moment. “I was supposed to have been warned when they approached, though. Someone must have disabled the alarm I set.”
Not Dahl, he wasn’t subtle enough a warlock to have detected it. But if he had a witch with him, one of her cousins, perhaps, then they would have known her well enough to know what to look out for. Even though she was an only child, her mother hadn’t been, and she’d had plenty of cousins to play with growing up. Plenty of cousins who knew how her mind, and her magic, worked.
“No deaths,” she said, giving the drakes a warning look. “Unless they’ve stooped to the vilest of violence, they’ll attempt to contain, disarm, and perhaps maim. They won’t attempt to kill. My coven hasn’t sunk that low.”
“No, because being enspelled to sleep until you die a natural death isn’t murder,” Marcello said, then snorted.
Jezamine frowned at him . . . but said nothing. Because that was exactly one of the wa
ys her people used to skirt around the sacred induction from Hekate never to kill, only in self-defense, and even then it was preferable to die rather than sink into darkness.
“We’ll go by car,” she said. “They’ll be watching the sky.”
“We can cloak,” Donato said.
“There are ways to see through a cloak if you’re expecting one, and I don’t exactly feel like getting shot out of the sky with a bolt of energy.”
“Yeah, real non-violent,” Marcello said.
They drove. With Leandros guarding Kayla far away, it was only the three drakes with her. They picked Isaai up enroute, driving through the busiest part of downtown where supnat’s of all kind mingled during the evening.
“Where have you been?” Donato snapped. “There was an attack on the house.”
Isaai slid into the car, expression cold and closed. “Someone has been following me. I tried to reverse the tail and back him into a corner, but he was slippery.”
“No deaths,” she repeated as they approached the edge of the forest preserve and parked. They’d have to go on foot from here.
Isaai cast her a scornful look and remained silent.
“Lead the way,” Marcello said.
Donato was at her side, pushing her behind him. Jezamine slapped his shoulder. “How am I going to lead with you in front of me?”
“Figure it out.”
She snarled at him, but her impatience clawed at her insides, and there was no desire to argue. They moved slowly, because Jezamine feared traps, and the brothers apparently understood guerrilla tactics as well. They scanned the canopy of trees as well, something so many humans forgot to do—look for the enemies above.
The taste of her own magic grew stronger as they approach the hiding place of the false book. “There are no impediments here.”
“They want the book,” Donato said. “They won’t impede you until they have it.”
“It’s too quiet,” Isaai said.
“Not only that,” she said slowly, brow creasing. “We should be there by now.” Jezamine froze for a split second and then cursed quietly. “Do you have personal wards?” Why hadn’t she thought to ask that before? Stupid, stupid.
“Yes,” Donato said, just as his snapped into place, hers already flowing around her body to cocoon her in a protection of energy impervious to inimical castings.
And that was the moment they stepped through the sound bubble. Had she thought Dahl lacked subtlety? He must have grown in the last several years.
She and the drakes faced her ex and a half dozen witches of the Hearn coven, now inside the illusion he’d cast to display empty forest trail where there were instead, enemies.
“You brought your pets with you,” Dahl said.
“You brought fodder for their fire.”
He smiled faintly. He was a handsome man, pale hair and dark eyes, like a fairy tale prince. Completely selfish, and uninterested in the feelings of other people.
“Are you willing to resolve this matter peacefully?” Dahl asked. “Joshua was insistent no one be hurt. I agree with him.”
Marcello snorted. “Interesting idea of peacefully.”
“Marcello,” Donato said.
“Where is my son?” She lifted a hand to her chest where the connection was muted. Damn them.
Dahl glanced over his shoulder and someone pushed a figure forward, cloaked in black. Dahl pulled the hood of the cloak down and revealed Joshua, who stared at Jezamine, eyes empty.
“What did you do to him?” she asked.
She felt disconnected from her feelings, as if her mind was descending to a place where simple emotion did not exist. Nothing existed. She focused on Dahl. Dahl was a problem. Problems had to be eliminated. Hadn’t her mother taught her that it was better to stomp out a pest, even if you found the task distasteful, to avoid it coming back to haunt you over and over again?
“It’s a Hearn spell, you should recognize it, my dear.”
The dragons were silent. She felt them at her back, unmoving. Coiled. She focused on the spell, shifting her vision to trace the pattern of the weave. A Hearn spell to block the sense. Her son was, effectively trapped in a mental solitary confinement. He would be able to feel what was going on around him. But he couldn’t see or hear.
“This is a dark spell,” she whispered, shocked despite her numbness.
“No, shit,” Marcello said. “I’ve been saying for ages that witches aren’t actually non-violent. They’re the only ones who believe that crap.”
Dahl shrugged. “It causes no lasting harm, and is an effective way to subdue those who present a threat to themselves or others.”
“Your own son.”
“He is not my son as long as he demonstrates disloyalty. The book, Jezamine.”
“It’s underneath your feet, why don’t you take it?”
“Witches talk a lot,” Marcello murmured. “When do we get to flame things?”
“I guess we’re waiting on the female,” Isaai growled. “But why? Someone snatch the boy and eat the others.”
Dahl frowned at the dragons. “Jezamine, can’t you control your—”
“If he calls us pets, Jezamine,” Donato said, “we will be at war.”
A woman touched Dahl’s arm, and stepped forward. Jezamine stared at the Hearn Maven, expression stony.
“You always were our wildest daughter,” Hebekah said fondly. “Jezamine, isn’t it time to come home? The Book is a dangerous thing in the wrong hands.”
“I agree,” Jezamine said. “Regardless, it is mine.”
“It belongs to the coven, Jezamine.”
“To your husband,” Dahl snapped.
“We’re divorced,” Jezamine said.
“Only through legal maneuvering.”
“Is this the female who married you to him against your will?” Donato asked.
Jezamine’s forehead creased a moment, then she sighed, touching his arm. “Donato.”
Hebekah appeared displeased. “None of our witches are married against their will. That would be unthinkable.”
Her words infuriated Jezamine. “No, they’re just pressured and bullied into accepting something they know should not be.” She held up a hand. “It doesn’t matter now.”
“It matters to me,” her drake growled.
“Let it go, Donato.”
“Why are the Beasts here,” Hebekah demanded, “in our business?”
“He is my mate,” Jezamine said.
The silence in the clearing was deafening.
“A Beast?” Dahl exclaimed. “You mated a Beast?”
“You’re the beast, Dahl.” Some of the numbness was wearing away, and she grabbed onto it, yanking it back. Emotion would not serve her here.
“If her judgment has been compromised to this point,” Hebekah said, “we cannot expect her to be reasonable. We must take her into custody. She obviously needs counseling, and is not a fit caretaker for the book.”
“Let’s just add bigot to liar and abusers,” Marcello said.
“Stop it,” Jezamine snapped. “You can’t judge an entire race by the actions of a few people. That would be bigotry.”
“Enough talking.” Dahl raised a hand, palm out. “The book, Jezamine.”
She smiled. “Come and take it.”
Cloth ripped, roars coming from the mouths of three human-seeming men as they began shifting. The witches stepped back warily, but Dahl and Hebekah held their ground, linking hands and beginning a soft chant. Jezamine felt the ripple of magic as their spell built and grit her teeth, beginning a counter of her own.
They would tear the forest apart, magic and dragon flame. And her son was in the middle, unable to see or hear. But if she broke his enchantment first, she’d leave herself open to attack.
“That is quite enough,” a voice rang out through the forest. Lights flared, dozens of multi-colored balls floating above their heads and flooding the forest in a cacophony of lights.
21
Roshell a
nd Bash walked calmly past the dragons and stopped several feet in front of Jezamine. “I am Roshell, Maven of Felicity falls.”
“You are trespassing,” Bash growled.
“You’re in the way,” Marcello said, lowering his head to the ground.
“My coven is prepared to defend our sister, and our land,” Roshell said. “We ask you to leave. We outnumber you, and the dragons have not taken our oaths of non-violence.”
“Why do they keep insisting they are non-violent?” Isaai asked.
“It’s a matter of perspective,” Bash answered, surprisingly.
Donato snorted, and walked forward, steps heavy thuds in the earth. “I am Drake of felicity falls. This male has threatened my mate, and the father of my grandchild. Out of respect for your . . . nonviolence . . . we will give him five minutes to leave. If he does not, we will deal with him.”
“You think you will deal with me,” Dahl snarled, hand jerking in Hebekah’s hold.
Hebekah held him fast, slowly scanning the area. Witches emerged from the forest one by one, proving the truth of Roshell’s words. The Hearn coven was well and truly outnumbered.
“Yours is an ancient bloodline,” Roshell added. “We would not wish to cause it harm. Go home, Hebekah. Take your people with you.”
Hebekah’s mouth thinned. “The book belongs to us.”
“Will you swear a binding oath that the book is rightfully yours?”
Silence. Jezamine’s mouth kicked up at the corner. Binding Oaths . . . were nothing to play with. Especially as it was rumored blessed Hekate was of the Fae, and the oath, sworn in her name, would instantly punish the witch or warlock who was untrue. She had seen such a punishment only once in her lifetime. Once was enough.
“I will swear the binding oath that the book is mine by right of heritage, and I am it’s caretaker,” Jezamine said.
“While you are here, Jezamine, you are protected,” Hebekah said. “You will not always be in Felicity Falls.”